Page 31 of Fiery Romance

“Island says I could even braid my own hair someday.”

“Mm.”

“Island says…”

Island, Island, Island.

The woman my daughter can’t stop raving about.

The face that filled my head the moment I settled into bed, a bed I once shared with my wife.

Sacrilege.

I thought I’d escape Island if I closed my eyes.

Not a chance.

Last night, I dreamt of her afro-puff bobbing, her glossy lips parting and the heat of her body when I had her against the counter yesterday.

The rapid beating of my heart woke me and the throbbing in my pyjama pants told me that dream—for all its PG-rated content—hadn’t been innocent.

I shot up, feeling guilty as hell and had to flip through pages of my wedding album to remember that the only woman I should be thinking about is six feet under.

Damn.

It’s not like Iwantto be attracted to Island. Sure, she might be beautiful, toned and sexy as hell, but she’s also loud, mulish, and more argumentative than a woman should be.

I’ve never met anyone so contrary. Everything requires a comeback. Everything is a big scene. Bold. Loud. Dramatic. She’s the type to make threats with hair dryers and choose an inconvenient path just to make a point.

And have mercy, that mouth of hers is sharp as a knife, even if I want it wrapped around my—

No.

No, I’m not letting that thought settle.

As Regan’s nanny, I respect her.

As a person, I merely tolerate her and, since I had to… get creative to employ her services, it’s safe to say the dislike is mutual.

Still, that doesn’t explain what I felt when I touched her hand yesterday. The electricity that singed me was puzzling.

And unwelcome.

Perhaps I’m feeling lonely these days. Or maybe it’s the stress. Maybe I need to focus more on my kids and on the company. Something. Anything.

But under no circumstances will I let my base instincts take the wheel when it comes to my beautiful, stubborn, reluctant nanny.

“Can I braid your hair sometime?” Regan says.

I snap out of my thoughts. “I don’t have enough hair for you to braid, sweet pea.”

“That’s okay. I saw someone shave all her hair off yesterday. Everyone called her a queen.”

“Really?”

“Are queens bald, daddy?”

“They can be.”

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